i worked approximately 57 hours over the last 6 days. at least. by yesterday (an eleven-hour shift that stretched into twelve because the overnight tech called in late) i was giddily loopy, making stupid puns and laughing in a maniacal "hee-hee-hee" way. "you've completely lost it" t told me, laughing also.
i got home, collapsed in bed, and read "bonk" until i fell asleep. "bonk" is entrancing but not nearly as much as "stiff"- her coquettish asides are rather annoying. nevertheless, i reccommend it for anyone who wishes to learn more about erectile dysfunction and the sorcery of impotence. what would you use as a cock ring?
and though i thought the title was peuriley amusing the first time i heard it, i am now rather embarrassed to be reading a book called "bonk." no one says "bonk." do they? how about this: iffin you want in muh pants, don't ever refer to it as "bonking." jesus fucking christ. it makes me think of a plastic toy that you hit with a hammer.
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i had lofty plans for the morrow by the time "bonk" lulled me to slumber. instead i woke up, ate jello, fucked around on facebook and took another nap. i didn't piss the entire day away, thank christ- a BRIEF midday nap can be quite restorative, even if it did involve creepy dreams about something i can no longer remember- and when i emerged into the world the sun was shining and i promptly shed my jacket.
i am going to be volunteering at the bailey-boushay house as a licensed massage therapist! that was the aspect of massage that really yanked my crank, if you will- because the rest of it makes me want to fucking vomit. i returned to cortiva for the first time since i graduated to get copies of the tb titers and vaccine histories that i had to submit to bailey-boushay (hereafter known as BBH- watch me) in september. they shredded all of that when i graduated. so i have to go to virginia mason (the hospital they work with) and get repricked and reprodded... not a big deal, just slightly inconvenient. cortiva has been completely remodeled. i saw a lot of the admin folk i dealt with during my time there, reminding me anew how obvious and enraging a fake smile can be.
i have been wrestling with the following since i enrolled in school in june of 2008. it was a total whim. a caprice! and only one person who knows me on any level said "yeah, i can see that" when they heard i'd enrolled. i had never had a fucking massage, i hate new-age bullshit, and it doesn't cross my mind to hug people unless i know them very well. why the fuck did i do it, then? why did i commit 18 months of my time and over $15,000 (yes, really) to this?
what i love about massage:
-being touched is powerful. it reminds you that you are a human also.
-when you are receiving a massage, you are the practitioner's sole focus. it is all about the client.
-it feels good to do. it feels physically right. if i truly pay attention, it is impossible to give a shitty massage.
-the human body is fucking fascinating. everything hinges together in such tenuousity. it's a miracle anything consistently works at all. the fact that it does impresses the shit out of me. it's very humbling and beautiful, i must say.
-the emotional response to massage far outweighs the physical benefits.
what i fucking hate about massage:
-the TRUE stereotypes: flaky, frivolous, chakratastic, bullshit, so help me goddess, flowy-caftan-from-a-catalog-wearing, soft-spoken, beeswax, moon signs, loose-leaf tea, "yeah, we should really get together sometime...", yoga mats, blank stares, muted tones, CHIMES.
-the entire concept of 'spa work.'
-overcharging. charging. why should anyone pay for a massage? seriously! yes, i said it.
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my view of massage is the same as my view of (any) religion: the basic tenets are beautiful and inarguable... but the commercialization is fucking repugnant. 'commercial' massage is bullshit. BULLSHIT! signed, brynn LMP WA LIC# MA60127466
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with BBH, i won't be working with the same people i saw when i was in school- i don't think. i'll be working with outpatients, people who are still healthy enough to not require 24/7 care. (it's a liability thing- before, i was buffered by the umbrella of school- by the way, we were the last class to do BBH. the program has been discontinued due to "lack of interest.") i've never seen their 'day' facilities. i am so fucking excited. this is what makes sense to me.
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unlike nearly everyone else in my class, i always had a job. and despite my moaning and carrying on, i really do enjoy it. it comes automatically now, to the point of being slightly disturbing. i keep vowing i won't do it forever... who knows. perhaps it is this 'security', coupled with an admitted indifference to most things "masSAGE", that leads me to believe that free is the only fair option. possibly i am surmising this through eyes occluded by non-desperation. (the new clinic is a huge gamble. we'll either hit the ground running or we'll all be out of a job in six months. i very well may have to revisit my derision of all things spa, god fucking forbid.)
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disused train cars behind cyclone fencing...
it is saint patrick's day. there are already occasional groups wandering about with plastic green hats and multiple beads. i left my "everyone loves an irish girl" and "spank me i'm irish" shirts AT HOME, thank you. (note: they are only ever worn in public when under scrubs.) to my curmudgeony credit, i am wearing nary a stitch of green on this day of drunks behaving badly.
to reward myself for working the last six days and, as a result, spending very little money, i bought another bukowski book, downloaded the new white stripes album, and drank two gin and tonics while the sun shone far above the horizon.
soon i shall sashay to the lindy class.
life is good.
i'm in the mood for a melody/i'm in the mood.
it's a beautiful warm spring day in fair seattle.
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